


The Mouse Roars

by SherlockianBrowncoatSG1



Series: The Morgue Mouse [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Little Cussing, BAMF Molly, Damsel in Distress, Gen, Hero Sherlock, Hopefully not too much, Molly is the hero, Molly vs. Moriarty, Moriarty Attacks, Moriarty is Alive, Mouse in the Morgue, St. Bart's Morgue, a bit of violence, barest hint of Sherlolly, good old fairy tale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:52:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1799473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockianBrowncoatSG1/pseuds/SherlockianBrowncoatSG1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This takes place right after the end of 3x03. Moriarty is back and wants to finish his good old fashioned fairy tale. Every fairy tale needs a villain and a hero. What else does a fairy tale need? A damsel in distress.<br/>Molly might be the damsel, but is she really in distress?<br/>Molly fights back. </p><p>Inspired by this wonderful piece of artwork from Sash-Kash<br/>http://sash-kash.deviantart.com/art/Damsel-in-Distress-282557963</p><p>This is my first publicly shared written work and obviously first on Archive of Our Own. Thanks for reading!<br/>(All characters but Pa and Max belong to either Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the great writing team of BBC's Sherlock. Pa and Max are my own creations)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Mouse in the Morgue

**Author's Note:**

> There are some amazing authors on this site that I've been in awe of, but one thing that seemed to be a reoccurring theme in regards to Doctor Molly Hooper is this idea that she is weak.
> 
> I don't see her as weak.
> 
> I see her as a woman who is desperately in love with an impossible man, which makes her want to please him. I don't think that makes her weak, it makes her human. 
> 
> I was also struck by what Sherlock told John in "His Last Vow" in regards to Mary's past. 
> 
> "John, you're addicted to a certain lifestyle! You're abnormally attracted...to dangerous situations and people, so is it truly such a surprise that the woman you've fallen in love with conforms to that pattern?" 
> 
> I believe this is the same with Sherlock. He would not surround himself with idiots or with weak people. He picks on Donovan and Anderson because he knows they can be smarter. 
> 
> He knows Molly Hooper is extremely smart and competent. 
> 
> I also think that when pushed into a corner she can be dangerous. She may be sweet, but Sherlock trusts her in a way that he can't trust anyone else. He would not abide a stupid person to be in such an important role as "His" pathologist. 
> 
> That is how I see Molly Hooper and I hope you might enjoy her.
> 
> (Also a big thank you to hobbitsdoitbetter for the thoughtful critic regarding the formatting. I hope this reads better now as I have updated it.)

**Chapter 1- The Mouse in the Morgue**

"Did you miss me?"

That sing song voice from three and a half years ago echoed through the quiet morgue.

Slowly the head of a certain pathologist lifted from where she was closely inspecting the punctured bowel of Robert Labree, a 52 year old widower, who laid upon the cold steel examining table.

Doctor Molly Hooper quickly flicked her eyes to see if the double wide doors were swinging, but they were not. Then her eyes caught the flickering, small black and white television in the corner. Upon the noise maker, was the smirking face of the world's only Consulting Criminal.

Unknowingly, poor Robert's bowel was squeezed in the clinching fist of the doctor, while her other hand grasped the closest scalpel.

"Bloody Hell," She whispered. "He's back."

Quickly, she set Robert's mangled bowel beside him and pulled off her soiled gloves. With measured steps she transverse the morgue's floor to the cramped office near the lab's door. While she walked, her fingers nimbly danced in her hair in the unfathomable way only women's hands seemed to be able to do, rolling her convenient pony tail into a bun.

Reaching her desk, she opened her odds and ends drawer to grasp the cool metal of two specially designed hair chopsticks.

"Thanks Max," Molly breathed as she thrust the slim sticks deep into her gathered hair. She glanced at the small framed picture on the desk's shelf, her father and brother who had their arms around a younger graduating Molly. She pressed her fingers to her lips and touched the picture as she moved into the lab.

Ducking through the door, she grabbed the large specimen jar filled with a preserved heart of an aneurysm victim that was sitting on a small table near the door. Next, she grabbed the squat jar that held a brain from a cancer patient. With a casualness that was not felt, she started humming Florence and the Machine's "No Light, No Light" as she cleaned up the lab by putting the brain jar on a shelf that held various medical research books, that had to do with injuries and illnesses with regard to the brain. The heart jar found its own spot on the adjoining bookshelf on the other wall.

Both jars effectively blocked the two well hidden cameras.

She was not sure which one was Mycroft's, but she did know one had to be Moriarty's, so she covered them both just to be safe. Either way she knew that they would show up rather quickly to fix the view of the spying cams.

Locking the swinging door from the lab to the hallway of the basement, she placed the safety bar across the doors, blocking access as she continued to the long table down the middle of the room.

"Did you miss me?" continued the annoying loop of the little television in the morgue.

Now that the lenses were covered, she moved with focused precision as she gathered various bottles from the lighted chemical shelves. Putting fresh gloves, on she used the provided droppers to place the liquid into color coded test tubes.

 _Perhaps not coded for what their purposes are now,_ she smirked as she started pushing the covers onto the tubes, _but they'll do just fine_. The green ones went into her left lab coat pocket while the purple ones went into her right. Ten tubes divided between two pockets.

Removing her gloves once more, she gathered two large squirt bottles of sulfuric acid that were near Sherlock's preferred microscope, and walked back out the lab's door into the morgue.

Mr. Labree still laid naked and opened on the slab.

A stab of remorse came over her as she looked at the mangled mess of what was left of his bowel. "Sorry, sir." With gentle hands she covered the naked man with the sheet. "One way or another, you'll get your story told. Your children are waiting for you."

She looked at the double wide doors and wondered who would come first.

The psychopath or the sociopath?

They both were coming, but which would get here first?

She knew which she would prefer, but life had never asked for her preference before delivering it's punches. Molly Hooper did not see Life changing its MO anytime soon.

Then again, enough games had been played. Perhaps, it would be better if Sherlock didn't make it in time. She knew him. Knew Sherlock Holmes in a way that even Dr. John Watson had never been able to discern. He needed the riddles and the puzzles so he didn't get lost in the millions of connections that were only visible to his extraordinary mind. Jim Moriarty provided the puzzle for the game that focused his mind.

Moriarty did push the king too far though, going after his knight. Even though the villain had truly pushed the king to the jumping point, the king still was addicted to the game. Perhaps Sherlock would be swayed. Jim Moriarty was a man who had kissed the Blarney Stone. He knew how to twist the words of truth into a noose of death, and, just perhaps, gift the world's only Consulting Detective with one more puzzle full of riddles to capture his mind. Preserving his life once more.

"Did you miss me?"

"No, you bloody bastard. I did not miss you." Molly said through clenched teeth as she moved the medical equipment out of the way, pushing it into the corner. The bottles of acid were placed in the straining sink at the end of Mr. Labree's feet. To protect Robert's organs as much as possible, she pushed the table holding the bowls with his heart, lungs, and liver as well as the empty ones to the wall, away from their previous bodily home.

With a flick, the morgue's main lights went out, and the caution lights softly glowed along the walls.

He was coming.

Which man will come swinging through those doors first?

The psychopath or the sociopath?

She had a feeling it was going to be the villain of the story.

She was ready though.

The supposed mouse of the morgue had a few tricks up her sleeve.

Dr. Molly Hooper was not as timid as people- Sherlock's people- thought she was.

She had a backbone and she wasn't afraid to show it when it counted.

It counted now.

This little mouse was about to roar.


	2. The Mouse's Predicament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The suicide mission is halted

**Chapter 2- The Mouse's predicament**

"England needs you little brother."

The jet made a sharp aerial U-ie and came quickly back to ground within seconds of the call.

All ready Sherlock Holmes was going through the names of Jim Moriarty's network by memory, wondering who he had missed.

Who was in danger right at this moment?

Before the plane even came to a complete stop, Sherlock was riding the stairs down as they unfolded.

Mycroft's town car still sat there idling with the back door open.

Wrapping his Belstaff tightly around his hips as he slid in, the car was already on the move as his leg left the pavement, for there was not a second to waste. England needed Sherlock. Anthea's lightening fast clicks as she texted Mycroft's people, was interspersed with the voice of a man who had nearly succeeded in destroying Sherlock and those he deeply cared for.

"Did you miss me?"

Mycroft's umbrella jumped twice between his legs, a tell with him. _Concerned. Worried. Furious._

John's voice: "What the hell? He's dead! You said he was dead! Was it another lie? How can he be alive?" _Fear. Protective. Ready. Gun able._

Already he was angling his body to protect one of the most deadly women Sherlock Holmes had ever met. Protecting his wife. His unborn child.

Mary's eyes were glued to the back of John Watson's head, her hand lightly curled around his forearm. _Determined. Cool. Focused. Steady hand._

_So many people that can be hurt...  
_ _Caring is not an advantage Sherlock.  
_ _Sod off Mycroft!_

"Lestrade?" Sherlock asked.

"Covered." came the prompt answer from Athena.

"Mrs. Hudson?"

"Sister's. Got two men on the wily woman." Mycroft said. The umbrella tapped twice more.

Mycroft and Sherlock by unspoken agreement slipped into their personal mind palaces.

Who could Moriarty's man be going to hurt?

"Did you miss me?"

_Fairy tales. Villain of the story. Hero._   
_What else? Grimm's Fairy Tales. Apple. Snow White. Breadcrumbs. Hansel and Gretel._   
_Hints there, hints here. Missing something._   
_What else with fairy tales? "Every fairy tale needs a good old fashioned villain."_   
_What else does a fairy tale need? A Hero. Kept me from leaving for a suicide mission…needs me here._   
_Missing something! What is it?!_   
_John. Mary. Baby. Lestrade. Mrs. Hudson. Protected…_

Sherlock and his older brother suddenly came out of their mind palaces at the same time speaking at the same time, "Ms. Hooper- Molly" startling John in his mid-rant. Mary and Anthea just looked at them.

"What?" John poked Sherlock's leg. "What do you mean- Molly?"

Mary's face cleared as she looked between the Holmes brothers. "Molly. Moriarty is going to go after Molly isn't he?"

With a small smile at her deduction, Sherlock nodded. Mycroft was informing the driver to make it for St. Bart's across the city, "Fast now!"

Sherlock held his hand out to Mycroft on which was set a slim black mobile. His phone was back.

_Molly, hide. Someone is coming for you. HIDE!--SH_

Looking at John's frustrated face, Sherlock elaborated, "Molly Hooper, the woman who helped me fake my death? Moriarty- whoever is playing him now anyways- is going to eliminate the woman who tricked him. Who beat him. A woman, he discounted because I was unaware of how much I relied on her. Also, he loves fairy tales. What does every fairy tale have?"

John's befuddlement was almost painful to look at. "Think John! A damsel! A damsel in _distress_!"

Mycroft picked up the train of thought, "To finish the story that Jim Moriarty started, the hero must rush to save the damsel in distress. The only woman who would fit that description would be one Ms. Hooper. Sherlock's pathologist."

" _Doctor_ Hooper, Mycroft!"

"Did you miss me?" And still the figure onscreen taunted, digging those barbs of venom deeper into the hearts of those listening.


	3. The Mouse is cornered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The face off between Molly and Moriarty

**Chapter 3- The Mouse is cornered**

"Did you miss me?"

Suddenly the television flickered rapidly then blinked off. The annoyingly terrifying voice echoed once more across the nearly empty morgue and then faded into a dense silence.

Abruptly Molly jumped as her mobile gave a loud vibrating buzz in her trouser pocket indicating an incoming text. With her eyes still on the doors, she fished the mobile out to look at the message.

_Molly, hide. Someone is coming for you. HIDE!--SH_

_I've got this Sherlock. Get the guy. -MH_

She sent the message winging through the digital world, back at the consulting detective. Her mobile slid back into her pocket with a lingering touch, _He had cared enough to warn her... Snap out of it Mols. He's just trying to protect the woman who saved him, that's all._

Rolling her eyes at her continued misplaced desire for the tall sociopath, she fingered the test tubes as well as the scalpel in her pockets. Her mind flicked to all she had on hand: her belt- a gift from her father that had a neat little trick with the buckle, her hair sticks- also with an unexpected twist to a common item, thanks to her brother, the test tubes, the scalpel, the acid. She was as ready, as a single woman in an empty morgue, with a dead man on the table could be.

As she waited for the villain of the story to show his face, she thought hard about if it could be Moriarty, or if it was someone else. Could Sherlock have missed someone?

Molly kicked herself again for not doing Moriarty's autopsy. But, she had been in the midst of getting the drugged Sherlock into a waiting van and taking care of him. The British Government, aka Mycroft, had come in before she could get back to St. Bart's from dropping Sherlock off at her flat, and he had taken the body of the terror of England with him.

She wondered now though, had Moriarty actually been dead? She remembered how Sherlock had said that he had swallowed the gun. How he ended up having to jump because the man had pulled the trigger.

Was he really dead? Did it matter?

All she actually knew was that someone was going to come, and she was the target to get at Sherlock. As always, she was focused on protecting Sherlock Holmes. How ironic was it that this man, who thought that caring was not an advantage, had so many people who would willingly lay down their lives to protect him?

"Did you miss me, Miss Molly?" came through the door as it slammed open. Molly Hooper refused to jump at the slapping of the lightweight door against the wall.

"Golly, Miss Molly! You have been NAUGHTY!!" The lightening quickness of the change of vocal range was designed to startle the person being intimidated. Molly was having none of it.

"You going to come out of the shadows?" Sarcasm. Molly could not hold it in even if she had tried.

Stepping out of the shadows that seemed to cling to his beautifully cut Westwood suit, the slender Irishman was shaking his head and making a tsking sound with his tongue.

"Hello, Jim." Molly breathed slowly, refusing to raise to the bait that he was tossing into the middle of the morgue like a fisherman does in a lake.

"Jim. Jim. _JIM_! Miss Molly is trying to make me _human_." The Consulting Criminal sang as he walked further into the room, the door swinging behind him. He held a red apple in his hand, one that he brought up to his gleaming teeth. With a loud crisp crunch he took a bite out of the flesh. Slowly chewing his mouthful, he raked his eyes over the lab coat covered body of one pathologist.

"Humm, was someone waiting for me? Who were you expecting _Doctor_ Hooper? Me? Or the _great_ Sherlock Holmes?" Dark brown eyes, so dark they almost seemed black, making one think that the evil in his heart was leaking into his eyes, glared out from under a lowered brow.

With her fingers gently curved around the scalpel in one pocket and a test tube in the other, Molly answered with her usual honesty. "You of course. I had a feeling I'd see you dancing into this room soon enough. So why run? You know me Jim, I don't run when there is a problem."

At the visible clenching of his jaw, Molly knew that he was remembering when she got in his face and told him to get out of her flat. When she, not him, broke off their little dates.

A projectile winged passed her without warning, splattering into the fridge doors behind her. Little chunks of juicy white and red flesh showered her as the apple exploded from the force of his throw.

"Yeah. That's why I threw you out." Her eyebrow was the only thing that moved. She refused to react because that was what he craved, much like Sherlock craved nicotine. "Your little temper tantrums leave much to be desired."

The man released a mocking laugh. "Oh, you _are_ good."

"I do try." She continued to force herself to breathe slow and easy, as normally as possible as she tracked the erratic motions of Moriarty. He was much like a cobra who attacked with very little warning. There were small signs if you knew what to look for, but they were hard to find.

With his now empty hands clenched behind his back, Moriarty paced in between the doors and the two empty examining tables across from where Mr. Labree laid.

"We do seem to have come to a bit of a conundrum here Miss Molly."

"Oh? How do you see that?" Molly leaned a bit closer to the straining sink where her bottles of high grade sulfuric acid waited. "I know why you are here. I know what you want. It seems pretty simple really. You want Sherlock, and for some unknown reason you think he is going to come here? To what, protect me? You always did make that mistake."

With military parade precision, Moriarty stopped and swung around on his foot, looking at her. "I? I always make that mistake? I know what you did Molly. I know how you stopped that hero's fall."

She felt a small shiver run up her spine at the flatness in his voice. Devoid of the usual sing song tone that was a signature of his, his voice was even more creepy than usual if that was possible. Now is the time to start worrying.

He was done playing the game.

"Let's make sure our audience is aware of our little game." He looked at the corner above the door where another small camera was hidden. Mycroft's, Molly presumed. Which meant that Moriarty's was over the cooler drawers.

_"HELLO, Boys!"_


	4. The Mouse's Knights

**Chapter 4- The Mouse's Knights**

Across town, a black town car barreled through London traffic as only an ex- military and former getaway-driver could.

Sherlock's mobile buzzed with the incoming text from Molly Hooper. Opening it quickly, his already pale skin seemed to blanch even further.

"Sherlock? What is it dear?" Mary Waston's voice intruded.

Without a sound, Sherlock handed over his mobile for her to read the text.

_I've got this Sherlock. Get the guy. -MH_

"She's not going to hide is she?" Mary whispered.

"No, she thinks she can outsmart the maniac. FOOL!" The wide eyed man spat.

"Sherlock…" Dr. John Watson warned.

Long fingers scraped through dark curls in frustration. "John! She is putting her life in the hands of a madman. She will be captured and tortured to get to me. She's probably thinking that she could make sure to leave clues for me to find. She's trying to protect me. Again!" Sherlock's feet jumped as he leaned forward into the middle of the town car.

" _Think_!" Pressing the flat of his hands to his temples, he dove back into his mind palace while his eyes danced under the tightly clamped eyelids.

Racing through his memories, he came to a stop in front of St. Bart's morgue doors. Looking through the swinging doors, he saw the brunette ponytail frolic along the straight shoulders of the most competent pathologist he had ever worked with. He had seen something that had to have given him some sort of hope since he went there at this moment. Something… what was it?!

_A older man he did not know, but looked vaguely familiar to him, had been leaning against the cooler wall._

_"Again!" he had demanded._

_The slender woman blew a breath, lifting the wisps of hair escaping from her ponytail away from her face. Moving into the center of the morgue floor, another man followed after Molly. This man had been bulkier, but still unmistakably related to Molly Hooper. With a quick bounce on his toes, he mocked his little sister. "Come on Mols. Too busy using a scalpel to remember your moves?"_

_"Max, I'm going to bring you down so hard that they'll be whispering my name!" A rumbling laugh came from the wall as the older man shook his head._

_"Oh, girly. Just focus and leave those people to us. You do good here. You speak for the dead." He patted the drawer door next to him._

_"He's just mad that I've always been better with a knife than him, Pa." Molly smirked at her brother. And like any little sister, promptly stuck her tongue out at him._

_"Grrr!" With that, Max pounced on his sister, bringing her to the ground._

_Sherlock remembered how he had been about to push through the doors to force the large man off his pathologist, when suddenly Molly was sitting on the back of the attacking man with his arms pinned behind his back. He had not even seen her move._

_With a devilish streak that he had never witnessed in her stammering appearance with him, she licked her finger then stuck it into her victim's ear. "Ah, man!! Seriously Sis, grow up! Stop with the wet willies!!" Max squirmed under his tormentor, attempting to buck her off._

_"Good girl!" Mr. Hooper swooped down and lifted his little girl off of her brother while kissing her cheek. "You still cling like a monkey, Poppet! I'm glad you remember how to protect yourself. It is important, yes? Eyes open, hands ready, body honed. Remember this, you will live."_

_"Yes ,Pa." Molly jumped out of her father's arms after giving him a smacking kiss in return._

His mind palace crashed around him as his head shot up and stared at Athena.

"Molly's family. Who do they work for?"

Mycroft shifted slightly while tapping his umbrella. "They do not work for anyone in particular. But they are given certain leeways in numerous countries that would normally despise their work."

An exasperated sigh sounded from John. "You've gotta be kidding me. Molly comes from mercenaries? Is no one normal around here?!" Mary's slender hand covered her husband's clenching fist.

"Not mercenaries per se, Dr. Watson. They are more…liberators. They have a certain set of skills that they use for a very specific goal. They have a motto "Protect the Innocent" that they drive into their enemies with a ferocity unmatched by most." Mycroft smoothed down his perfectly placed necktie. "Those governments that have a conscious allow them to work within their borders while they reap the benefits of crime dropping in certain cities."

"She might have a chance then. Slim. But it is a chance." Sherlock took a deep breath in near relief, when suddenly every mobile in the car started buzzing.

Everyone looked at their phones, while Athena's clicking stopped. She let out a soft sigh. _Concern_. Anthea is actually concerned about the little pathologist, Sherlock's lightening fast mind took it in and filed it into his palace to look at later.

Black and white surveillance video flashed onto the screens of the smart phones clasped in all of their hands. In their grasps images of Molly facing down a demented madman played out.

_"We do seem to have come to a bit of a conundrum here Miss Molly."_

_"Oh? How do you see that?" Molly said, "I know why you are here. I know what you want. It seems pretty simple really. You want Sherlock and for some unknown reason you think he is going to come here? To what, protect me? You always did make that mistake."_

_Moriarty looked at her, "I? I always make that mistake? I know what you did Molly. I know how you stopped that hero's fall."_

_Molly straightened by the examine table._

_"Let's make sure our audience is aware of our little game." Moriarty turned to look at the camera._

_"HELLO, Boys!"_

Mycroft pointed at the in-car television, "Put it up Anthea." With a few quick clicks, Anthea moved the video from her mobile to the screen. All eyes moved to the larger screen.

Sherlock leaned forward with his fingers under his chin, rapidly categorizing everything that the spy camera showed. The placement of Molly behind the dead body, the extravagant motions of Moriarty, the fact that Molly seemed sturdy, the darkness of the morgue.

Molly's voice did not hold the usual stammer that came out when he was around her. It had a sarcastic edge to it as well as a coolness that took him by surprised. Despite looking into the eyes of a man who could easily kill her, she was calm and collected. Self assured.

He could not help, but flinch as Molly's words were delivered with an unfeigned confidence. Words that would not normally have penetrated his shell of isolation, but like he had told her before, she was the one who had counted. The one that kept him alive.

" _Let the games begin!"_ Moriarty shouted with the flare of a game show host.

Sherlock could see Molly taking a deep breath while her hands still remained in her lab coat pocket. Squinting slightly, he could make out small rounded bulges in the fabric.

" _He won't come, Jim. I just get him body parts. He'll be making sure those whose deaths could kill him- John, Mrs. Hudson, and even Lestrade- are protected. He won't waste his time on me. Pathologists are easy to come by, with his brother's clout I'm sure a new one will be in place before the week is done."_

Sherlock's fingers pressed so deeply into each other, the skin around his nails drained of blood. He could feel Mary's eyes on him, studying him, dissecting his reactions.

_"You know Mols. I do believe you are wrong there. Do you know what every good old fashioned fairy tale needs?"_

_"I'm assuming a villain? You do fit that character so well. You got the creepy aspect just right."_

Moriarty jumped across the room, landing on the other side of the dead body. Everyone in the car held their breaths as they waited to see how it would all play out. Certain there would be blood, certain that Molly would suffer. With no way to get there any faster.

Molly did not move.

Sherlock could not help the bubble of admiration that welled up.

Without warning the car took a sharp turn that caused the occupants to scatter across the vehicle. John's military reflexes protected pregnant Mary from landing on Mycroft's umbrella, while Sherlock's leg protected Anthea from crashing into the miniscule wet bar.

"Sir! We've got a tail!" The driver's voice came through the quickly lowered partition.

"Do what you need to." growled Mycroft.

"Yes, Sir!" With another sharp turn the car drove through a narrow alley.

_"No, Doctor Molly Hooper. Every good old fashioned fairy tale needs a damsel in distress for the hero to come and rescue. And I've chosen YOU to be in the starring role. Aren't you so excited?"_

_"Ecstatic."_

The game was about to change. It was about to get deadly.

The car burst out of the alley two miles away from St. Bart's. So close, but so far away.

"Come on Molly, keep it together." Sherlock whispered against his fingers. "Guns ready, Watsons."

The doctor and the assassin checked their respective clips.

"We'll get her, Sherlock." John assured.


	5. The Mouse Roars

**Chapter 5- The Mouse's Roar**

" _Ecstatic_."

Sassing a criminal mastermind. Never a smart move, but when Molly is backed into a corner, her mouth tends to run away. The only one she couldn't really sass too much was Sherlock…though it seemed like she had no problem smacking the living daylights out of him. A small smile played at the edges of Molly's lips, making Moriarty's eyes narrow with anger.

He slithered nearer to Mr. Labree's table. "You think this is funny?! You dare laugh at me? You, Miss Molly, play with fire. You are the damsel in distress in this little story. You are the bait. You will catch _the great_ Sherlock Holmes."

Molly screwed up her face in an elaborate show of thinking, "Humm, yes, I am a damsel. I do appear to be in distress. But, I've got this. No need for Sherlock to worry his pretty little head about me."

"Disney? You're quoting Disney _to me_? And that _stupid_ farce of a reenactment of a classical myth?" Molly could see small cracks appearing in Moriarty's polished veneer. She was just trying to give Sherlock enough time to come from wherever he was. He must be across the city for it to be taking so long. So she channeled her most annoying little sister persona possible to keep poking at the rabid dog in front of her.

She forced a casual shrug, "Hercules? Aren't you glad we watched it? You at least knew where the quote came from. So a point for Jim!"

Molly swore she heard a growl come from Moriarty.

"So are you actually going to do the dirty work this time, Jim? Or do you have some sort of henchman lurking out in the hallway to take care of little ol' me?" She made a show of rising to her toes and looking behind Moriarty. In the process of doing so, she placed her hand on the edge of the straining sink, within an inch of the squeeze bottles. "I know you only get your hands bloodied for those personal cases. You are much more an outsource type of a boss. Is this personal? Should I feel privileged?"

Without any forewarning, Moriarty reached out and grabbed Molly by her throat. " _Grrk_!" She attempted not to struggle, though it was hard not clutch at the clawed hand digging into her flesh. Keeping her calm was paramount to beating Moriarty.

"Molly Hooper, you are a _thorn_ in my side." Moriarty dragged Molly half way over Mr. Labree's body. Glaring into her panicked eyes, he said, "I'm going to dig you out and watch you _bleed_!"

He forced a brutal biting kiss on Molly's lips, making blood well.

Even though she was flirting with a blackout, Molly managed to grab the squeeze bottle and bring it to the madman's face as he started to push her away. Closing her eyes to protect them, she squeezed the bottle with all her strength. The high grade sulfuric acid hit the man nearly in his eye, burning the delicate flesh surrounding it.

Wheezing, Molly focused on moving her feet. Even as Moriarty screamed from the feeling of acid eating into his flesh, she knew that he could still retaliate. He didn't feel pain the same ways as most people did, just because he was in mind numbing pain didn't mean he couldn't function. She had enraged him and he would retaliate.

She had to move. Molly could hear Moriarty's cultured tones turn to the true guttural dialect of the poor section of town. The real Moriarty was coming out.

Sherlock was coming, Moriarty was moving, Molly was the target.

Digging into her lab coat pocket, she grasped the green colored test tube and threw it at the advancing Moriarty. As it hit the ground, she averted her eyes and raced once more towards the swinging doors. With a loud bang and a brilliant flash, the tube exploded, making the madman stumble for the disorientation. With another lob over her shoulder she threw the purple one which brought a billowing smoky haze into the morgue room.

The smoke was noxious and burned the throat and lungs. Struggling to hold her breath despite the aching in her own already air deprived lungs, she lobbed two more tubes so more smoke as well as disorienting light flashes filled the room.

Her hand was on the door when she felt the edge of her lab coat being clutched. With a jerk she was reeled back into the smoke filled room.

Moriarty's blistered covered face filled her vision. Snarling a obscene word, he punched her in the stomach and then reared back and backhanded Molly's face. What little breath was left escaped in a startled gasp. Her already sore lip split even further and she could feel the blood running down her chin.

His laughter was maniacal as he glared out from the traumatized flesh.

_"Eyes open, hands ready, body honed. Remember this, you will live."_ Pa's voice echoed through her rattled brain.

Muscle memory took over. Fisting her hand, she punched back at the violent man. Hitting him square in the injured eye, taking the saying 'adding insult to injury' to the extreme. Then as Moriarty's head came back from the punch, she brought her knee up into his solar plexus as she brought her clenched fists into back of his skull.

Grabbing one of the chopsticks in her hair, she stuck it into Moriarty's back, pushing the slim button on the end as she did so. Even as he thrashed and wrapped his thin but muscular arms around her knees, bringing her down to the tile so hard that her head bounced, the tranquilizer in the chopstick was working into his system.

Max's special gift was protecting her. Molly could feel the slackening of the body on top of her. Pushing out from beneath Moriarty, she scrambled to her feet. Weaving as the double vision affected her stomach, she stumbled back towards the door.

"Ygsssh….you….wsdill…DIE!" Moriarty's voice was slurring as he struggled to fight off the effects of the drug. He was attempting to crawl towards her own erratic figure as she finally made it to the door.

Wheezing and coughing, the sass of Molly was still strong, "Good luck with that you sicko. Molly 1, Jim 0."

Falling out the door, Molly Hooper, St. Bart's most capable pathologist, landed at the feet of the world's only Consulting Detective, Sherlock Holmes.

"Ahh, Holmes. So good of you to join us." Molly's raspy chuckle sounded as he swooped down to keep her head from finding itself on the tile yet again. "Your second biggest admirer is taking a little nap, oh, and please excuse me. I think I might have a bit of a concus…." Molly's voice faded away as did her consciousness.


	6. The Mouse rescued herself

**Chapter 6- The Mouse rescued herself**

"JOHN!!!" Sherlock called down the darken hallway as he quickly checked the bloodied and bruised face of his pathologist. He could hear the quick running steps of the army doctor and his pregnant nurse.

The quiet Anthea slipped into the smoke filled morgue with gun at the ready. Seeing his friend sliding next to Molly, he grabbed John's gun and followed Anthea. Attempting to hold his breath against the noxious fumes, he swept the darkened room.

He saw the slim figure of Mycroft's bodyguard slash assistant crouched next to the fallen figure of the game master.

Seeing the glint of something metal sticking out of the Westwood suit jacket, he bent beside Anthea and grabbed what looked like a chop stick.

A feminine hand clutched his wrist. "Careful, Mr. Holmes. It's a powerful sedative. If it gets on your skin it can start to relax your muscles very quickly. Derived from a tropical frog."

Sherlock gave a considering look at the slim metal implement. "Intriguing."

"He's alive still. Though your little pathologist got her kicks in." She indicated the tear stained cheek of the criminal.

Rolling the man over, Sherlock took stock of the acid burns on half of his face. "Fascinating."

Anthea stood up and walked around the examining table. "Ah. Look what the little mouse used!"

Sherlock leaned away from Moriarty and saw the rolling empty squeeze bottle of sulfuric acid. "Clever girl. Used what was available. "

Looking around the morgue as the rapidly dissipating smoke cleared, he picked up a purple cover from a test tube. A green one lay near the feet of Moriarty. Taking one more sniff of the smoke he could detect the various chemicals that Molly had use in her flash and bangs. A half of a smile curled Sherlock's lips, pleased with his pathologist. "Smartest pathologist in England."

Anthea flipped the lights on so they could take a closer look at the unconscious Moriarty. Bloody nose, blistered and bleeding acid burns, fingernail scrapes through the blisters. "She's small, but scrappy."

"Dr. Hooper is naturally protective. She felt like she had to protect me, so she fought. Rather than stay safe, she brought down the scourge of the British Government." Sherlock looked through the propped open door. Molly was being transferred to a gurney. Mary was standing on alert keeping an eye on the hallway, while John was running through the diagnostic list that doctors have. Mycroft stood near the gurney with his ever present umbrella.

He could see Molly rouse enough to say something to Mycroft, before slipping back into unconsciousness. Mycroft's voice echoed as he answered the battered woman. "Yes, Doctor Hooper. I understand."

"Anthea, check the lab. I am sure there is nothing there because Molly would have blocked it off, but better safe than sorry." Sherlock tied Moriarty's arms behind him with the flexi- cuffs that Anthea procured somehow out of her slim dress jacket. For good measure he was about to use his scarf to tie the madman's ankles together. An agent of Mycroft's slipped into the room with leg shackles.

"Sir, no need. Got something a bit better."

"Good. Do not let him escape. Mycroft might be scary, but I will kill you if he finds his way loose again." The agent nodded without any other reaction to the death threat.

"Brother dear, please don't threaten my agents." The overly dulcet tones of his older brother commanded.

With his Belstaff billowing behind him, Sherlock swept out of the sterile examine room to follow his pathologist up to the hospital floor. Mycroft fell into step beside him as they moved down the hall. "What did Molly say, Mycroft?"

"Humm? Oh, your little goldfish threatened to castrate me if I let Moriarty escape. The next time he dies, she expects to be able to crack his ribs and hold his heart in her hands. I do believe she was earnest on that demand. Intriguing…" He let his umbrella swing beside him as walked.

John was waiting for Sherlock at the elevator, "Well, John? What is the damage? Concussion?" John's hands were streaked with rapidly drying blood. It hinted at a more serious wound.

"Concussion yes, but we think she cracked her skull, might have a fracture. It definitely broke the skin, so a lot of blood. Worried about her throat. It's got a good string of bruises, need to check the larynx. Lip is split, ribs might have hairline fractures, lungs have probable chemical burns." John rattled off the damages as he wrote on the clipboard the ER crew had given him as a first responder. "Going in for X-rays first to see the damage to the skull and ribs. Then in for at minimum, stitches, as well as scoping the throat and lungs to see what damage is there. Molly'll be okay though."

Sherlock felt a peculiar tightness in his chest, followed by a lightness in his head. _Concern. Relief. Similar to the feeling that I got when John was taken out of the bonfire as well as getting him out of the bomb vest. Well, what do you expect Holmes, old boy? It is Molly after all. The only one who was able to save me when I fell. She is the one who counted._

He had a sudden overwhelming desire to puff on a cancer stick.

Molly would have smacked him again…


	7. The Mouse revives

**Chapter 7- The mouse revives**

She wanted to smack him. Hard.

The insolent man was driving her batty. And let her tell you, a cracked skull induced headache had nothing on one - Sherlock Holmes. He had somehow, probably John, gotten a hold of her medical records and was spending his time deducing how certain healed breaks had happened. He had nearly figured out all the moves she had made to bring down Moriarty. He had seemed to be quite pleased with her.

Which the idiotic portion of her brain squealed with joy over.

Her skull trauma had made her stupid. Yep.

Molly was recovering well and the doctor was going to be releasing her into the care of the Watsons' tomorrow. She was still a bit wobbly, as her equilibrium had been rather scrambled when her head had danced on the floor. The fracture was going to take time to heal, and her boss had already given her time off for the next month to heal. Molly's ribs were also going to be sore for the foreseeable future, as Moriarty had managed to break two of them when he had punched her in the chest.

She was also on a strict, no talking regimen, for a minimum of two weeks, to allow her lungs and throat to heal from the chemicals and strangulation. Sherlock was taking full advantage of that as his jittery energy filled the room.

"Poppet!" The hearty tones of an older man herald his entrance. Her Pa was here.

Large arms wrapped around her, lifting her off of the hospital bed. She could not help the wince of pain as her head screamed and her ribs cried in agony.

"Sir! Put her down!" Sherlock's strident tones cut through the pain.

"What's this then?" Pa's arms laid her back on the bed. "You the bloke that got her into this mess?"

She squeaked in protest. Not that any of the men filling the room was listening. John, Mycroft, Sherlock, Lestrade, Pa, oh and look, Max was back from India. Attempting to clear her bruised throat, she tried to gain their attention again, and only succeeded in sounding like the mouse that most people labeled her.

Looking frantically around her bed for something to throw at one of the men before John jumped at Max to defend Sherlock's honor; Pa pounded on Sherlock to make up for Molly getting into the middle of his games; Mycroft from hitting anyone with an umbrella, and Lestrade from having to arrest the whole lot of them, she relaxed with relief when Mary's voice broke through the den.

"ENOUGH!" Mary wielded her pregnant belly like a weapon to make the men step away from each other. "You, sit down!" She pointed at Sherlock and John, as Mycroft stepped back into his corner. "You two, gentle! Can't you see, you big buffoons? Broken ribs, fractured skull, bruised throat. You can't pick her up like a stuffed toy!"

Sighing, like only a put upon woman could, Mary walked over to Molly. "Here dear, some water. Bloody idiots. All relatively intelligent men, but put them together and they don't have a brain cell between them." Covertly, Mary winked at her patient.

Using the cup to cover her smile, Molly took a soothing sip. A groan of pleasure could be heard by all, broken though it was.

"Sis, what did I tell you? Keep moving so they can't touch you!" With the concern that only a big brother could show, Max moved closer to the bed to look at his sister.

A growl sounded from the other side of the room. Sherlock jumped up and was back beside Molly's bedside, looming over her while getting into to Max's face.

"Sherlock…" came John's warning.

"Molly handled herself very well. She brought down the worse criminal to hit England in centuries. The fact that she is alive is a testament to her determination and her protective streak. Her ingenuity and her intelligence stood her in good stead, with her ability to outsmart Moriarty when most of the London's finest got caught in his web. She alone brought him down, when even I, arguably the most intelligent man in England," Mycroft snorted at this, "was caught in his games. Treat her with respect!"

Wide eyed, Molly listened to Sherlock's tirade.

Max looked at the tall man who had played with his sister's heart for years. "About time you realized it Holmes. So Mols, do you need anything? Toby taken care of?"

_Please_ Molly mouthed at him. Poor Toby had been alone for two days now.

John stepped up, "Mary and I will be taking Molly to our house so we can help her out while she heals. Unless, of course, you want to take her?"

Molly's eyes widened in horror at the thought. Shaking her head caused her to give a strangled cry of pain as the stitches pulled on the back of her scalp.

"I do believe that Molly would not like that John." Sherlock told him as he lifted Molly's head up to gently remove the tangle of hair that was irritating the wound.

_T_ _hank you_ , she looked at him gratefully.

Pa came over and gave her a kiss on the forehead. "You survived girly. Proud of you. Always knew you had it in you. Mum would have been proud of you."

Tears welled up at the mention of her mother. The woman who had died when Molly had been a teenager.

"Well, Poppet. It looks like you are in good hands here. Nothing better than having a doctor and a nurse looking after you. Good friends, a little odd, but good. Max and I have a mission in South America in a week, so we'll look after Toby for a bit while we get ready for it. We'll be out of contact for at least a fortnight when we touchdown. Jungles, you know?" Pa spoke with an assurance that he knew everyone's secrets in the room and that they would keep his quiet as well.

He played off their obvious love and friendship for his daughter. Even the one who held a 'minor position' in the British Government held a touch of affection for his little morgue girl. She always did have a way of gathering broken people under her wings. Her strength was surprising as it was not readily visible, but when someone was in danger, her protective instinct always came out. To be honest though, that honorably protective streak she had she came by naturally, as her brother and he fought to protect the innocent of the world by doing some drastic things.

The only one who had ever shaken her enough to not be able to show that strength though, was the tall man across from her. Sherlock Holmes had been the only man in her thirty or so years that had shaken her so much. Her infatuation made people think she was a push over, when in fact she had a backbone of steel, just not where Sherlock was concerned. She ran her family like a small military unit, and her morgue like a well oiled machine because her boss listened to her suggestions. Molly's bumbling stuttering personality only came out when Sherlock had her in his cross-hairs.

Pa had an overwhelming desire to bop him over the head.

Pa kissed his precious daughter's forehead again. "Love you Molly girl. We'll leave you to it. Heal well, body honed."

Molly smiled at him, even as her eyelids started to flutter as her morphine kicked in.

Max leaned down and kissed her as well, then whispered, "You did good little girl."

Molly started to slip into a healing sleep with the knowledge that she was loved and she had won. She could hear as the men and Mary started to file out of the room.

Sherlock was the last to leave, pausing beside her, he kissed her unmarred cheek, and whispered, "You are my unexpected hero Molly Hooper. I might solve your murder and John might save your life but, you Molly, will lay down your life to protect someone else. You are truly an intriguing woman."

Doctor Molly Hopper, England's only capable pathologist according to Sherlock Holmes, slipped into sleep with a smile curving her lips and the knowledge that Moriarty had been taken out, and Sherlock was safe for the moment.

Sherlock's people had heard an unexpected roar today.

A roar from a small timid morgue mouse.

A roar that had brought down one of the scariest criminals in England.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading my first short story. Sherlock Holmes is an amazing character, both the way Doyle and the BBC crew created such a wonderfully complex character that just gets the creative juices flowing.  
> I hope I did a small bit of justice to the strong character's of BBC's Molly. I adore her and I see so many aspects of my own personality in her. Since I do consider myself to be somewhat strong when pushed into a corner, I thought that Molly Hooper would come out swinging herself. So I had to explore that aspect.  
> This was not beta'd at all. All mistakes are totally me and my bumbling writing!  
> Thanks again for the read. 
> 
>  
> 
> Eagerly awaiting Series 4!!!


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